The Things I Tell Myself
by animepotato999
Summary: "Those who call themselves 'ugly' don't realize that someone out there thinks they're the most beautiful person in their eyes."-Francis Bonnefoy. Human AU. Trigger warnings inside.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: Trigger warnings: Self-harm, depression, character death.**

**This Fanfiction is not meant to glorify depression in any way.**

**Italics mean flashbacks.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or any of the characters.**

* * *

Francis' POV

"Duh! He is Canada! I recognize him from his sexy hair because it is so much like my own. But not as good." This is what I tell myself as I climb into bed. I remember what I said earlier today while talking to Matthew and Arthur. I repeat these words over and over until I finally fall asleep, dreading the World Conference that is set to take place the next day.

* * *

I trudge into the World Conference. All around me I hear people talking to each other and laughing. I had just found a seat when Alfred sits down next to me.

"Hey, Francey-pants! Why the long face?" he says and gives me a playful shove. I pause for a second to think, then turn to him.

"I was just pitying all of the people in the world that will never get to have such a beautiful face. Mine is perfection,"

"Okay, bro. You do that," I look to my right and see that Arthur has taken the seat on the other side of me. Great. He gives me an apologetic smile. Oh, right. He raised this hamburger-munching, milkshake-slurping slob. A few hours later, the World Conference ends without a solution to the problem at hand. Everyone grumbles as they leave the room, the light mood from earlier forgotten.

* * *

When I get home, I burst into the entryway, tears clouding my vision. I can't stop thinking about what Alfred said to me. I run into my bedroom, trying not to knock into any furniture. I fling myself onto my bed and think of the great things I say about myself when others are around. I repeat them to myself over and over until the tears stop and my vision clears.

The next World Conference happens a couple weeks later. Again, Alfred chooses the seat next to me. He punches me in the shoulder.

"Francissssss," he chimes. "You're frowning againnnnn," That's it. I've had enough. I stand up, the force of the sudden movement knocking my chair backwards onto the floor. I run out of the room, my arm up in front of my face to hide the fact that I am crying.

"Damn you, Alfred! What did you say, you little twat!" I hear Arthur yell.

When I get home, I run into my bathroom and slam the door shut. I sink down to the floor in front of the toilet and try to think of things to tell myself, try to think about the man I want to be. I come up with nothing. I sigh and open a cabinet. Inside is a picture in a silver frame. I take the picture and hold it in my hands, biting my lip to stop the tears that threaten to spill out of my eyes at any moment. The picture shows a young man and a small boy who looks to be about eight years old. The young boy is riding on the man's shoulders. He seems to be staring at something beyond the camera, his eyes full of wonder and excitement.

_"Dad! Daddy!" Matthew says, squirming on top of my shoulders. I lower him onto the ground. He tugs lightly on my pant leg._

_"Can we go look at the ducks? Please oh please? Dad, I really want to! Just look at them!" He lets go of my pant leg and points toward the pond. I laugh and tousle his hair._

_"Of course, son," His face lights up as he runs toward the pond, full of excitement._

I feel tears spill down my cheeks. I look at the picture for a little while longer. I am just about to put the picture away when I hear a small cough right outside the bathroom door. As quietly as I can, I put the picture back in the cabinet, dab at my eyes, wash my face, and try to look somewhat presentable. I kick the door open and stride out, trying to look as confident as possible, even though I am pretty sure whoever is in my house heard me crying. Sitting on the couch in my living room is Arthur, drinking tea. Where in the world did he get tea?

"H-Hello, Arthur," I stutter. Arthur puts down his teacup and strides over to me, his shoes clicking on the wood floor.

"I have come to apologize for Alfred's behavior at the World Conference today. I can assure you that he did not mean to harm or offend you in any way," he says.

"Oh, no. It's fine. It's not a big deal," I reply, looking down at my shoes, slightly embarrassed about my behavior.

"B-But are you sure? You ran out of the room crying Francis. Are you sure you are all right?"

"I said I'm fine!" I yell, kicking the living room table.

"You say you are fine, but you really aren't" Arthur says, disappointment evident in his tone. He sighs, gets up, and leaves the house, forgetting his teacup. I take it into the kitchen, dump the tea in the sink, wash the cup, and put it on one of the shelves behind one of my fancy china plates. No one will ever notice it. I sigh and shake my head at Arthur's forgetfulness and a strand of loose hair falls into my face. I tuck it behind my ear and go into the bathroom and finish cleaning up.

* * *

**Thank you for reading! This is my first Fanfiction, so feedback is appreciated. If the story seems slow, I promise it will pick up in the next chapter, so bear with me!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: Trigger Warnings: Self-harm, depression, character death**

**This Fanfiction is not meant to glorify depression in any way.**

**Disclaimers: I do not own Hetalia or any of the characters.**

I stumble into bed. This time, however, I don't think about the things I've said to others. I can't help but smile as I think about Arthur coming over to check on me after the World Conference. That, and remembering the picture, are enough to make me feel satisfied with who I truly am.

* * *

The next time I encounter Alfred is right after the next World Conference. I see him open his mouth and I clench my fists, bracing for the worst. I table jolts and I hear a small sound. My eyes dart to the left and I see Arthur glaring at Alfred.

"Ow! What was that for?" Alfred exclaims as he bends down to rub his shin. Arthur gets up and leaves the room and for once I am glad he was there.

I am in one of my better moods today. I hum softly to myself as I go about my housework. When I finish, I remember what I was doing before I realized Arthur was in my house. I go back into the bathroom and retrieve the picture from the cabinet. Why did I keep it in here in the first place? I take the picture and put it on the table in the living room.

* * *

The next morning, I drag my feet as I walk into my living room, still rubbing the sleep from my eyes. I do a double-take and see Alfred standing at the fireplace mantel, looking at the pictures on top of it. Arthur is sitting on my couch looking at the picture from yesterday. I stand in the hallway for a second, watching as Alfred peers over Arthur's shoulder. He smirks and lets out a small laugh. Arthur turns and gives Alfred's forehead a light flick. Alfred backs away, rubbing his forehead and mumbling. He notices me standing in the hallway, observing the pair that has placed themselves in my living room. Alfred places a hand on Arthur's shoulder and clears his throat.

"What's up, Francis?" he says, a grin plastered on his face. "I just wanted to say I'm sorry about the last couple World Conferences. Also, Arthur made me do this and he wouldn't stop bugging me until I did, so here I am,"

I don't really take long to think about what Alfred said. I have bigger matters on my hands at the moment. How in the world did these two lunatics get into my house? I clap my hands together and rock back on my heels.

"I accept your apology. It is time for you to go now," I say, not caring about how rude I might sound. Arthur nods and puts down the picture. He looks me in the eye, then leaves. I am alone in a room with Alfred. Who would have ever thought that would happen?

"So we're cool, right?" Alfred says. I sigh and raise a hand to my face and comb it through my hair.

"Yeah, okay. It would be 'cool' if you could leave now," I tell him. Alfred looks at me, hurt evident in his eyes. He hangs his head and I walk over to the door and hold it open for him. Once I am alone, I sink down to the floor in front of the door. I pull my knees to my chest and bury my face in my hands.

* * *

**Arthur's POV**

I am jolted awake by the harsh sound of my phone ringing. I feel around on my nightstand until I find it.

"Hello?' I say, words slurred.

"A-Arthur... I need you," I hear on the other end. Oh, no. Francis. I hang up the phone and dash into the garage, keys dangling from my fingers. My car isn't there. Oh right. Alfred took Kiku and Matthew out bowling. They must still be there. I go back inside and put on a pair of old raggedy tennis shoes. The only thing I hear is the sound of my shoes slapping against the pavement as I run to Francis' house. I burst into his house, face moist with sweat. My eyes dart to the couch where Francis lays, curled into a ball. He is facing the back of the couch, visibly shaking. I slowly shut the door, careful to be as quiet as possible. I slowly walk towards him and place my hand on his shoulder. He relaxes at my touch. I run my fingers through his hair over and over again until I can hear his soft rhythmic breathing. I get up to leave and hear Francis roll over. I glance over my shoulder and gasp. In Francis' hand is a small blade. There is a lattice of cuts running up his arm, blood slowly leaking from them. A part of his shirt is stained a dark red. I turn around and go into the bathroom. I start throwing open cabinets, looking for bandages, medical tape, anything. I finally find some tape and go back into Francis' living room. I tape his arm, careful not to wake him. I walk into the kitchen and look at the clock on the wall. 4:30 am. It's too late to go home now. I go back into the living room and sit down in a chair and wait for the sky to become bathed in pink.

I wake up to see Francis is no longer on the couch and there is a sticky note stuck to my forehead. I reach up to grab it and it flutters to the floor. I kneel down and read it.

_Thanks. _Is all it says.

* * *

**Thank you for reading! Feedback is appreciated. **


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note: Trigger warnings: Self-harm, depression, character death.**

**This Fanfiction is not meant to glorify depression in any way.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or any of the characters.**

* * *

**Francis' POV**

I can hear Arthur making noise in the living room. When will he leave? I rub my bandaged arm anxiously. I wonder if he found the note. My head begins to pound. I collapse onto my bed as the pain spreads through my entire body. The world sways and black caves in on top of me.

* * *

**Arthur's POV**

I hear a small sound come from Francis' bedroom. I go over to the bedroom door and place my hand on the doorknob, listening closely for something, anything. I open the door and see Francis lying on his bed, damaged arm crossed over his chest. I smile and shut the door and go back into the living room. I'll just wait here until he wakes up and then I'll talk to him about last night.

Four hours pass. Much to my own regret, I leave Francis' home, but I have to see if Alfred ever made it back home. I open the garage door back at my house and see my car in it's spot with no damage. I hear a crashing sound coming from the kitchen and Alfred struts into the garage, a pot on his head and a huge silly grin on his face.

"Hey, Arthur! Any idea how to make a burger?" he asks. I sigh and shake my head. "I'll just take you to go get one. Better than burning down the house," I reply.

* * *

**Francis' POV**

I sit up and rub the back of my head, trying to remember what happened. It all comes back to me in a tidal wave of feelings and pain. Suddenly, my injured arm starts to burn. I stumble into the bathroom, head spinning from getting up so fast. I peel off the bandages on my ar. How in the world did they get there? Did Arthur put them on? Underneath them is a series of cuts. I run my fingers over them, my arm tingling. I re-bandage my arm, doing nowhere as good a job as Arthur did. I wonder where he is now. As if my thoughts summoned him, he comes through the front door, silently shutting it behind him. I open the bathroom door just wide enough to be able to see him. He puts a drugstore bag on the floor and shrugs off his jacket. He bends down to pick the sack back up and our eyes meet, his emerald ones piercing mine.

"Hello, Francis. Just the person I wanted to see," he says. I slowly open the door wider and stand in the doorway. Arthur strides across the room and thrusts a bag in my face, his embarrassment almost tangible. He flashes me a huge grin, the redness in his cheeks bringing out his bright green eyes. I open the bag and look at Arthur, a confused look on my face. The only things in the bag are bandages and a chocolate bar.

"I used to always bring Alfred chocolate when he wasn't feeling well. I thought that you might like some," Arthur mutters, rubbing the back of his neck, a sheepish smile on his face, his eyes glazed over as if he was thinking about when Alfred was young.

"A-And the bandages... I noticed you didn't really have any when I was here last night," Alfred says, his face turning an even deeper shade of red. I nod.

"Merci, Arthur," I say, my voice barely more than a whisper.

"Well, that's all I wanted, I guess," Arthur says and starts to put his coat back on and something falls out of one of the pockets. Scones, I think. A bag of scones. But I can't be entirely sure because whatever they are, they are terribly burned. Arthur bends down to pick them up and shoves them back into his pocket.

"Mon Dieu, Arthur! What are those?" I ask.

"Scones, Arthur replies. "They're scones,"

"No, Arthur. They look like rocks," I say, unable to keep the laughter out of my tone. Arthur bites his bottom lip and stares at his shoes. I hold my hand out and he drops the bag of scones into my palm. I open it and take a bite of one, instantly regretting it. It tastes like burnt sugar with a hint of... garlic? I swallow and try not to cringe.

"Are they really that bad?" Arthur asks, looking up from his shoes.

"Uh, oui," I reply. "Have you ever tasted your cooking?" Arthur's face darkens.

"Of course I have! Do you think I make food just for the fun of it?" I shrug and mumble,

"I do sometimes," I start to pace, but somehow end up in the kitchen, Arthur following right behind me. I go into the pantry and start pulling out ingredients. Once I exit, Arthur goes into the pantry and returns with some garlic.

"Wait, what? Arthur, no. There is no garlic in scones," I say, barely able to keep from bursting into laughter at the face that Arthur has been making scones with garlic in them. Where did he learn to do that? He trudges back into the pantry and puts the garlic back on the shelf, muttering under his breath. He comes back and stands at the counter with his elbows propped on the table, chin resting on the palm of his hand. He carefully watches every move I make as if there was going to be a pop quiz on it later. I pull two big bowls out of a cabinet and set them on the countertop. I glance over at Arthur and gesture him over to where I am standing with the bowls.

"Make some scones," I say, unable to keep from smiling as I speak. "And make them good this time," Arthur shoots me a quick glare. He gulps and bites his bottom lip. Why is he so nervous? They're just scones.

A few minutes later, a plate of scones is pushed across the countertop. I gingerly take one and inspect the top of it. It looks alright, I guess. Much to my own regret, I take a huge bite of Arthur's scone. I choke and feel bile rise in my throat as my teeth touch the burned underside of the scone. Turning it upside down in my hand, I see that the bottom of the scone is charred black. I begin to flake off the burned part of the scone, but stop almost immediately after realizing Arthur hadn't burned just the bottom layer of the scone, but multiple layers.

"Arthur, how did I not smell these scones burning in the oven?" I ask, only to get a shrug from Arthur in return. There is a smudge of baking powder on his forehead. I slide the plate of scones back across the countertop and stand up, dusting the crumbs from my lap onto the floor.

"Mon ami, let me show you how it's done," I say with a smirk. Arthur just rolls his eyes and flops down in my seat at the countertop, his eyes following my every move.

Some time later, I walk over to Arthur and place a plate full of scones in front of him. He looks up at me, the smudge still on his forehead. I take a scone from the plate and start cleaning up. The process takes a while because Arthur spilled at least half a bag of sugar whilst baking. When I'm done, I turn around and do a double-take when I notice Arthur is no longer in the kitchen and neither are the scones I made. It's just me and Arthur's burnt scones. I take the plate over to the trash can and dump out Arthur's scones, laughing at the sound they make. It sounds like I had just dumped a plate of rocks into my trash can.

I go into the living room and see Arthur sprawled out on the couch, my plate of scones in his hand. He is staring at the wall, lazily eating. He sees me watching him and stands up, crumbs from his shirt falling onto my floor.

"Well, Francis. I think I'd best be heading out," he says, walking over and handing me my plate. He puts on his coat.

"Thanks for the cooking lesson," he says."Maybe we could do it again sometime,"

"Yeah," I reply. "That would be nice," Arthur nods to me on his way out of the door and I watch as his car pulls out of my driveway and heads down the street.

* * *

**Thank you for reading! Feedback is appreciated.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note: Trigger warnings: Self-harm, depression, character death.**

**This Fanfiction is not meant to glorify depression in any way.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or any of the characters.**

* * *

**Francis' POV**

There's another World Conference Today. It will be the first time I've seen Arthur since the day I taught him about scones. I arrive to the conference early. I take my seat and lean back and watch people come in one by one. Arthur comes in, and Alfred follows soon after, once again taking the seat next to me with a smirk on his face.

"Hahahaha. Francey-pants is here today," he says. "I heard about you teaching Dad how to make scones the other night," I grit my teeth and grip the tablecloth so hard my knuckles turn white.

"Do you really have nothing better to do than sit around teaching people how to cook?" he asks. I bolt up from the table and run out of the room and out the front door to the building.

"Francis, wait!" I hear Arthur yell.

"Dude, no! I'm sorry!" calls a voice, probably Alfred's. I dash out into the street, the only thing on my mind is getting away from Alfred.

"FRANCIS!" I hear someone scream. The loud sound of a car horn fills my ears as a body collides with mine, pushing me out of the way of the car speeding down the street. I land on the asphalt and back towards the building to see Alfred lying on the ground, motionless, blood pouring out of him. I hoist myself up and slowly make my way towards the throng of people that has gathered around Alfred, with Arthur at the front, holding his son in his arms. Antonio steps away from the crows and I assume he is calling an ambulance. I try to get closer to Alfred but I can't bring myself to move. This is all my fault. I am the reason that this happened. The group of people separates as the ambulance arrives and Alfred is put into the back, followed closely by Arthur, hiding his face with his sleeve.

When the ambulance pulls away, I try to open my car door to drive to the hospital, but I am met with a sharp pain in my right arm. Matthew taps me lightly on the shoulder.

"Let me drive you," he says. " I was just about to go there anyways," I nod and follow him to his car. I pull the seatbelt across my chest and wince as it crosses my arm. Matthew looks at it and winces.

"Yeah, dad... You are going to need to get that checked out," he says.

"Never mind me. There are much more pressing matters on our hands at the moment, Mathieu," I respond as Matthew starts the car.

* * *

I walk into the waiting room of the hospital with a sling on my arm, the fabric making my neck itch. I stop in the middle of the room when I see Arthur sitting on a couch, crying. He is not even trying to hide his tears anymore. I walk over to him and put my good arm around him.

"Al...Al..." he says. He isn't able to speak for a while, and when he is, his speech is interrupted by hiccups. Eventually he gives up and leans on my good shoulder. His breathing evens out and I know he is asleep.

Time passes. I have no idea how long, though. Arthur wakes up and I leave to go get him some coffee. When I return, a nurse comes into the waiting room.

"Arthur Kirkland? Come with me, please," she says and Arthur gets up, taking his cup of coffee with him.

* * *

**Arthur's POV**

I follow the nurse down a long hallway. She stops in front of a door.

"You can see Mr. Jones now," she says. I take a deep breath and nod, placing my hand on the door handle.

"You have ten minutes," the nurse says and turns on her heels and heads back down the hallway. I open the door and walk inside to see my son lying in a hospital bed. He looks terrible. He is not wearing a shirt and there are bandages wrapped around his middle. He opens his eyes and attempts to lifts his head, but eventually gives up. I sit down in the chair next to his bed and take his hand in mine.

"T-The nurse said I might n-not make it," Alfred says, each word seeming to pain him more than the last.

"Don't worry about that," I say. "I have faith in you. You will make it out of here and go home a hero." Alfred smiles. His breathing seems to get more labored and I grip onto his and tighter as pain becomes visible in his eyes.

"Hey, Al? Remember when you met Matthew on the playground? Remember how you pushed him too hard on the swing and he fell off and broke his arm? Well. Francis wouldn't talk to me for a month and a half after that happened!" I tell him, trying to distract him from the pain.

"Speaking of which, were is Francey-pants?" Alfred asks.

"He is in the waiting room. I can bring him in here if you want to see him," I reply. He nods and I get up, letting go of his hand. Francis is right outside of the room, leaning against the wall with one foot on it. I gesture for him to come in. He hesitates for a second, then follows me into Alfred's room. Alfred looks at Francis and sees his arm in a sling and looks crestfallen.

"Alfred," Francis says. I can see tears welling up in his eyes. "You saved my life," Alfred smiles and tears spill over from Francis' eyes and roll down his cheeks. I return to my spot beside Alfred's bed.

Francis," I say. "I was just telling Alfred about the time he met Matthew at the park,"

"Ah, yes, Francis says, turning to Alfred. "I remember you pushed Mateiu off the swing and he fell and broke his arm I wouldn't talk to Arthur for a while after that!" Francis smiles and chuckles. The beeping of the heart monitor next to Alfred's bed gets louder and faster. I grip Alfred's hand in mine. His is cold and clammy.

"Alfred. I just want you to know. I love you so much," I say, my face wet with tears. Alfred squeezes my hand once and then his hand relaxes and I watch his body go limp. I turn to Francis and bury my face in his shirt and cry.

* * *

**Francis' POV**

We sit in the waiting room for a while, Arthur dosing on my shoulder, snoring softly. I must have fallen asleep as well because when I take up, something feels off. I reach up to comb my fingers through my hair and I touch a piece of paper. A sticky note flutters to the floor. I pick it up and read it.

_Thanks._ is all it says.

* * *

**Thank you for reading! Feedback is appreciated.**


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note: Trigger warnings: Self-harm, depression, character death.**

**This Fanfiction is not meant to glorify depression in any way.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or any of the characters.**

* * *

**20 years later**

**Francis' POV**

I pull into the parking lot a few blocks away from the cemetery. I'm okay with walking. Arthur begins to protest, but soon stops.

"Fine. We can walk, but you are carrying Nick," Arthur says and grabs the bouquet of flowers. I chose to get some Freesias. They reminded me of Alfred. I walk over to the opposite side of the car and open the door to the back seat. I am greeted with a smile from Nick, his green eyes staring up at me. His smile never gets old. It was one of the reasons we adopted him. Arthur says he smiles almost as much as Alfred did when he was a baby. I lift Nick out of his baby seat and he grabs my shirt. Arthur pats the pocket of his jacket.

"All right. Let's go," he says and starts walking.

You never really understand how heavy a five month old child is until you have to carry one and walk six blocks. When we reach the cemetery, Arthur stops at the entrance. I take his hand and lead him inside. We pass Matthew, who is on his way out. He nods toward us and keeps walking. We get to Alfred's grave and see that there are already numerous bouquets of flowers there. Arthur bends down and places the flowers on the grave. I hand him Nick, the cool metal of his wedding ring touching my finger. Nick smiles and grabs a Arthur's hair.

"Meet your big brother, Nick," Arthur whispers. He reaches into his coat pocket and takes out a toy soldier. He looks into my eyes and presses it into my hand. I kneel down on one knee and stare at the tombstone for a second before placing the soldier next to my family's bouquet of flowers. For Alfred F. Jones, my hero.

* * *

**Freesias symbolize innocence and thoughtfulness.**

**Thank you to anyone who read my story!  
**


End file.
